


Falling Stars

by immawriteyouthings



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Courting, Blood, Cultural Differences, Danger, Dwarf Courting, Dwarf Culture & Customs, F/M, Flirting, Khuzdul, Misunderstandings, Reader-Insert, awkward dwalin, minor injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-05-22 08:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6073188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immawriteyouthings/pseuds/immawriteyouthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you said you wanted to travel, you hadn't really considered Middle-Earth a viable destination. Since it was fictional. And in a book. And FICTIONAL.</p><p>However, given the number of dwarves you'd encountered recently, you'd probably have to reconsider that. Or, at the very least, your sanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Daggers And Dinosaurs

You were whittling. Never in a million years did you ever think you’d actually sit down and whittle. Even the word sounded weird. Whittle. _Whittle. Whiiiiiittle. I’m a whittle tea pot, short and stout._

Back home, wherever that was now, the hobby immediately conjured the image of a grizzled cowboy, hole in his hat and mud on his boots, sitting on a stool on a dusty old porch, an equally dusty old dog at his feet. A tumbleweed would pass. Harmonicas would play in the distance. He’d probably be chewing tobacco. He’d spit it into a bucket and it’d go ’ _ping_ ’!

_That_ was whittling.

And yet here you were, borrowed knife in hand, fiddling with a bit of wood. If only there were something better to do out in the middle of the forest, but there really, _really_ wasn’t. And hey, you couldn’t help but be curious, watching as Bofur and Bifur quickly and almost magically produced miniature works of art.

“I’m really not good at this.”

“Ah, lass, you’re a beginner! Give it time.” Bofur patted your shoulder. He, unlike you, had somehow managed to carve a beautiful, intricate bird in the span of ten minutes. The feathers looked almost real and the wings flapped with the turn of a dial. Bifur, in turn, had produced a remarkable new pipe for himself and was puffing away through impeccable geometric designs.

And then there was your miserable excuse for a carving. Which still looked like a bit of wood. Worse, it looked like an ugly, _beat up_ piece of wood. A piece of wood that had been through something traumatic. A piece of wood that would look off into the distance and tell you that it had _… seen things._ You raised your knife and focused, biting on your tongue as you tried to add a little swirl _aaaaaand_ you’d cut your finger open.

“FUCK!” you dropped the knife and hissed, holding your hand tightly. “Ow. Ow ow ow. Ow ow ow ow ow.”

“Let me see.” Dwalin appeared from nowhere and kneeled in front of you. Man, for a big guy he could move _fast_.

“This is why I shouldn’t be around knives. Or blades. Or anything remotely sharp.” You reluctantly held out your hand, hyper aware of the trickle of blood making it’s way down your palm. Dwalin took your hand, a bit too roughly based on the shock of stinging pain that shot through your finger and down your wrist. “Ow!”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. _This_ , you thought, was why Oín was the healer and Dwalin was the big warrior guy. Injuries, in general, called for a careful, gentle, precise hand. You looked down at how Dwalin’s huge, tattooed, knuckle-duster covered hand engulfed your own. Yeah, _no_. If you were lucky, he wouldn’t crush you like a dry leaf.

“You heard ‘er lads, throw your blades to the woods! I sure hope Smaug knows how t’ box,” Bofur joked, raising his fists. Dwalin grunted and pulled your hand closer to his face, examining the cut in silence.

“Not a problem! Dwalin here could probably punch a hole through the mountain itself, am I right?” You smiled tentatively at the dwarf tending to your hand, hoping for a somewhat positive reaction. A smile back, maybe? A chuckle? You’d frankly settle for eye contact at this point. He didn’t look up but frowned, his eyebrows pulled down tight. _Damn_. Foiled again. He was still looking at your hand, though, which, clocking in at two full minutes, was the longest he’d ever spent this close to you. _A true milestone in your relationship._

His eyes were intensely focused on the wound, as though his gaze alone had curative properties, and your gut twisted. Was… was the cut worse than you thought? You didn’t think it was that bad, it didn’t even really hurt anymore! Dwalin’s mangled ear suddenly dominated your vision. Were– were you going to lose a finger?! You looked over to Bofur for reassurance. The jovial dwarf only grinned and shrugged.

“Well? Am I going to live?” you chuckled awkwardly.

“It’s not deep,” he said and gestured to Oín. The healer walked over casually and rather than doing his job (as the freaking _healer_ ), passed Dwalin a waterskin and a roll of bandages. Dwalin worked quickly, uncorking the bottle with his teeth and tipping it over the wound until the water ran clean before wrapping your finger with practiced skill. Then immediately got up and stomped away. At least everyone _else_ was friendly with you.

Dwalin just did not like you. He seemed to dislike you from the start, which, given how you were introduced, wasn’t really a _surprise_.

If only you were a sound sleeper. God, that sounded weird, but it was something you thought about a lot these days. What if you were one of those miraculous people who stayed put in their sleep? Someone who went to sleep one way and woke up _the same damn way_. If you were one of _those_ people, you’d probably be at home right now, watching something stupid on Netflix. Contemplating a burrito.

But, _no_. You rolled. You flailed. You wound yourself in your sheets like a particularly ambitious caterpillar. You fell from bed on more than one occasion, waking with the pattern of your bedroom carpet imprinted on your cheek. You spoke nonsense to no one and snored loudly, drooling all over the place. It was all par for the course at this point, and you’d long accepted your fate as a lifelong active sleeper. So when you fell from bed one night, yet again, you didn’t think much of it. When you _kept_ falling however…

That was a bit different.

You fell out of your bed, out of your room, out of time, space, reality as you knew it and landed in a place you had long thought fictional. And on top of a very surprised, disgruntled Dwalin. In your _pajamas_. _(You know which ones. Yeah. Embarrassing, right?)_ He’d fallen back and held you in broad strong arms, bright red, gaping and completely bewildered. There was a moment of silence as you stared at each other, the breeze through the leaves upsetting the thin cotton of your shirt and the sleep-warmed skin beneath.

And then you started screaming. So did everyone else, but hey, you’d just _fallen out of the sky_. _They_ drew their weapons and pointed them in your face, _you_ panicked and nearly walked off a cliff – you know, the stuff lasting friendships are _truly_ made of.

However, after a cup of tea, a blanket and quite a lot of council and convincing from Gandalf, you joined the quest. You’d never quite know what Gandalf said to Thorin to persuade him, but hey, it worked. Gandalf called you a _consultant_ , whatever that meant. He said it with a wink, so you had a feeling he knew something he wasn’t telling you. Freaking _wizard._

You certainly knew of Tolkien’s book, but not well. You’d read it as a child and desperately wished you could remember more of the details (your eight-year-old self was not as interested in map-reading or swordplay as you might have hoped). The scope of the story had seemed so much smaller then, when confined to the pages of a book. Now it was anything but; huge and important and very, _very_ real. And Gandalf made it seem like you were supposed to _help_ somehow. Suddenly all of your problems back home seemed a hell of a lot simpler.

It had taken some adjusting (and a change of ill-fitting clothes, lent to you by a blushing Ori) but soon enough you felt like a part of the group, and were actually kind of enjoying yourself. After all, how many people got to go on a _real_ fantasy adventure? Blatantly ignoring the looming possibility of death, you resolved to make the most of your time in Middle-Earth, instantly bonding with Bofur, Ori and the princes. And the others seemed to like you well enough. Even Thorin had smiled at you!

…Once.

It honestly could have been gas or a trick of the light, but it was at least something! Only Dwalin remained, positively committed to overtly hating you. He was civil with everyone else, friendly even! He laughed! And told jokes! And smiled, goddamnit! But around you he _rarely_ spoke. He was gruff, standoffish, and bristled at your company. Or flat out fled from you on several memorable occasions. You did your best to reach out, making truly heinous jokes ( _no really, even Bofur had blushed)_ and trying to strike up conversations about anything and everything you could think of. But so far, nothing had worked.

You guessed falling on someone while nearly naked and screaming in their face was a big insult in Dwarf culture. Who knew?

“There. That’s the best I can do.” You held out your _masterpiece_.

“That’s great lass, I– _what is it?_ ”

“It’s an axe… I think?”

“Oh, no, I see it now! Very fearsome.”

“The world’s tiniest warrior shall know victory!” You swung your crude miniature axe around, making exaggerated grimaces and high-pitched little war cries. Bofur howled with laughter, watching as you 'rampaged.’ You brandished the tiny axe between you fingers and tapped it against nearby company members, sporting your best ‘war face’. Balin smiled fondly at you as you roared, rapping his right index finger with the minuscule blade.

“Du bekaaaaar!” you cried, clumsily mimicking the Khuzdul you’d overheard from the others, and attacked Kili, hitting him softly on the chest. He looked down and clutched at the 'wound’.

“No! Felled by the mighty Y/N! Tiniest of warriors!” he fell to the ground, flailing theatrically. Fili ran to his side and held him. “Avenge me, brother!” Kili croaked. He let his tongue fall out and went limp, feigning death.

“No! It should have been me!” Fili lamented, holding back laughter as he raised a fist to the heavens.

“That can be arranged!” you growled and lunged at him. Then gently tapped the mini axe against his head. Fili let out a death wail and fell heavily atop his brother. By then you had a sizable audience, all but two gathered to watch your little show. You placed a foot on Fili’s back in triumph and the others applauded. You bowed, thanking them for their patronage, then sat back in your spot next to Bofur.

“Boys. Show’s over. You can get up now.” You kicked at Fili’s boot.

“I will when he gets _off_ me!” Kili grunted from beneath his brother.

“No, I’m dead.”

“Get off! You’re too heavy.”

“You’re dead too. And no, I am not.”

Kili grabbed at his brother and it quickly turned into a little wrestling match, much to their audience’s amusement. You looked about and caught Dwalin’s eye. He, as usual, was talking with Thorin apart from the group. Gossiping, you liked to think. You grinned and pointed at the princes as they rolled around the camp, but Dwalin just glared, eyes sharp with disdain and hostility. _Eesh_. Talk about if looks could kill…

You had to do something to fix this. You couldn’t have him staring _murder_ at you all day, every day. It wasn’t good for your sanity. Or his eyes. You turned the mini axe over in your hand, pensive, then looked down at your pathetic little craft project. It really was an ugly little thing, a pale mimic of Dwalin’s axes.

_Oh_.

Oh man. If lightbulbs existed here, you would’ve had one over your head.

“Hey, Dwalin!” you called as you jogged over. He was leaning against a tree, arms crossed, talking with Thorin. They both turned to look at you and Dwalin visibly paled. You slowed and considered jogging right past them ( _Courage, Y/N. Find your goddamn courage_!) but eventually stopped, bouncing a bit. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“We were finished already,” Thorin said and moved to leave, but paused after only a single step. You waited for the command Thorin often spouted before marching off, but it didn’t come. Instead, Thorin’s eyes moved slowly down to his cloak. Dwalin had caught him by the sleeve and was looking at him, wild-eyed and desperate. You watched, incredibly uncomfortable, as Thorin glanced at his friend’s hand then up to his face, one eyebrow raising. Dwalin growled, but his fist eventually loosened and Thorin left, nodding to you. Man, Dwalin did _not_ want to be around you. You’d try to make this quick.

“Hey, so, uh, I just wanted to say thanks, f- for before, y'know?” you stammered, feeling incredibly stupid. He didn’t say anything, just _stared_ at you. Damn, he was scary. And big. You cleared your throat and continued, “My finger? Looks like I got my first battle wound! Ha, ha, _hm_. Well, I just wanted to say 'thanks’, sooo thanks! And here.” You held out your little axe and his eyes widened. He reached out and took it from your palm. Unable to stop yourself now that you’d launched into a perfect storm of nerves and awkward, you blathered on like an idiot, “I just wanted to say thank you for, y’know, saving my finger and helping me not die of blood loss and all that. Never thought I’d actually have to worry about blood loss! Do you guys worry about that? I mean, you have to with all the… the battling and, and the _wounds_ and stuff… But thank you, and maybe I can help you if you get hurt? I mean, I don’t know how much help I’d be, because I mean, _yeah_. No first aid training whatsoever! Missed _that_ class… But, I don’t know, I could try to do _something_ for you. Anyway, I just, well, it matches yours and I thought of you, so… yeah. Thanks!”

You smiled stiffly and scampered away without looking back. It wasn’t exactly an olive branch but hey, he was a dwarf. Dwarves loved weapons, right?

* * *

_He was still holding it._

And he kept looking at you from across the fire. You stared down at your dinner and could almost _feel_ his eyes on you. You just couldn’t eat with such a rapt audience and reluctantly handed off your dinner to a more than enthusiastic Bombur.

“Does Dwalin hate me?” you whispered to Balin, who, unlike you, still had his appetite.

“What?” Balin looked up from his bowl to his brother and chuckled, “No, of course not.”

“I know I’m not a great warrior or anything, but–”

“No, no, no, he does not hate you,” the older dwarf said, amused.

“And I even gave him my little axe! And now all he does is… _stare_ at me.”

“You– you what?”

“I gave him the little wooden axe I made? The one I killed Fili and Kili with?”

“ _And he accepted it?_ ”

“Well, yeah, he’s holding it right now.” You glanced over. It looked comically tiny in his huge hands. A giant with a toothpick. Aaaand he was looking at you again. _Great_. You ducked down, trying to get as small as possible. You considered falling back behind the log you’d made your seat, if only to escape his eyes.

“Well. Then he certainly doesn’t hate you! _A wooden axe_. It’s unorthodox, sure, but still very valid. Good on you, lass.” He patted you on the hand, laughing, “I’ll be very happy to call you sister.”

“Wait, what?”

“Ah, I should leave you two be.” Balin winked at you and stood, sauntering off.

“No, don't– Oh _geez_.”

The hulking warrior made his way over in several large strides and sat heavily beside you. At least he wasn’t looking at you anymore; his eyes were locked on the fire. Several silent, tense moments passed and you didn’t think you could _possibly_ feel more awkward. He was sitting _very_ close and his leg kept bumping yours, no matter how many times you discretely scooted over. You snuck a nervous glance. He was shaking and had turned a bit red. He clenched his fists atop his knees.

This was it. _He was going to kill you._

You closed your eyes and held your breath. Maybe if you stayed perfectly still, he wouldn’t be able to see you. Like a T-Rex. _  
_

_…Great_. Now you had the Jurassic Park theme stuck in your head. You were going to die thinking about dinosaurs. In Middle-Earth. Were dinosaurs a thing in Middle-Earth? Wasn’t a dragon a kind of giant reptile? Did that make Smaug a dinosaur?! Something heavy fell into your lap and your eyes snapped open.

There was a dagger in your lap.

THERE WAS A DAGGER. IN YOUR LAP.

Oh god, he wasn’t going to kill you, he was going to make you _fight him!_ You’d seen him fight, back when you faced the trolls. He’d literally thrown you behind him and flown into what could only be described as a berserker rage – all blades and muscles and the _screaming_. That is, until Bilbo was caught. God. _You were absolutely fucked._

“Well? D'you like it?”

He wasn’t looking at you, but at his boots, which must have done something wrong, based on the death glare he was giving them.

“I…I, uh.”

“I know I didn’ make it, it’s one of mine, but I hope it’ll do for now.”

“…Do?” You picked up the dagger tentatively. It was hefty and about the length of your forearm.

“I promise I’ll make you somethin’ proper when we take back Erebor,” he added quickly then paused. His voice came out as a quiet rasp, “’m not clever like you. Makin’ an axe out of _wood_. Wish I’d thought’ve that.”

Dwalin was going to make you a weapon? Cool. You looked around, confused, and quickly realized that it was just you and Dwalin by the fire. Alone. _Where had everyone gone?_ You spun around and found them, yes, _all of them_ , staring from across the camp. They all looked a little bit too happy to watch you suffer. _Jerks_. Kili grinned at you and confirmed that, yes, he was indeed a jerk.

“Never thought this’d happen. Thought I’d be the one to do somethin’, and not for a long time. An’ here _you_ are, bein’ braver than me.” He turned to you, then glanced down at the dagger in your hands. “Suits you.”

“Thanks?”

He turned away, clenching his fists again. And then the silence. _Oh,_ the silence. It seemed to drag on and on and _on_. You bounced your legs anxiously, hoping he’d get up and stomp away as usual. But this is what you wanted, _right_? You wanted Dwalin to be your friend! Maybe this was just the kind of friend he was: _a mind-numbingly awkward one._ No wonder he and Thorin always hung out away from everyone else… You’d just have to get over yourself and embrace it, awkwardness and all.

You cleared your throat and turned to him, determined. “So–”

“I can teach you how to use it!” he burst out and you jumped, nearly falling off the log. “The dagger. I can teach you, if y'want.”

“Yeah, okay. Probably a good idea, after this.” You held up your bandaged finger.

He nodded, smiling slightly. Progress! You looked over to the company and saw that yes, they were all still way over there and yes, they were still watching. But now some of them seemed to be mouthing things, gesturing wildly. Kili was holding one of Fili’s braids out, pointing at it desperately. When they saw you looking they stopped, dispersing awkwardly, and you turned to Dwalin.

“Did you see that?” You laughed.

“No.” He stood and held out a hand. You took it without thinking and he almost launched you from your spot.

“But they were just– _OOF_!”

You hit into his chest, falling face first into the fur about his shoulders, and suddenly his arms were around you. Was he– was he _hugging you?_ Today was weird.

“Don’t worry about them, thatrimê,” he rumbled as he held you tight. Almost too tight. _Geez_ , he was strong. And he smelled like leather. Leather and sweat and smoke and _man_. …Dwarf. Whatever. He let you go and stepped back, holding your arms for half a second before quickly dropping his hands to his sides.

“Well,” you laughed, looking around the camp. Everyone else had started to settle down. All except Fili and Kili, who were propped up on their elbows, still enthralled with your conversation. You made a mental note to kick them both later. “That was… _yeah_. Better, y'know, turn in. Thanks for this,” you said, holding up your new dagger.

His face softened slightly, then he cleared his throat and looked down, nodding. “Aye.”

“Goodnight, Dwalin.”

“Sleep well, Y/N.”

You charged over to your makeshift bed, crawling in as fast as possible. Today had been exceptionally weird. One minute, Dwalin looked at you like he wanted to set you and your house and your dog on _fire_ , the next he was hugging you and giving you gifts? Weird, weird, weird. But good. Weird but good. You lay for a moment, then held your new dagger aloft, letting the moonlight glint off the blade. You finally had a weapon of your own! You’d have to give it a name. Like… “Stabby”. Or “Vengence.” Or “Y/N’s Little Helper.” Or something, y'know, _good_.

You looked at it a bit more closely. The hilt was decorated with geometric shapes and there was a line of runes along the blade. You ran a finger over them then rolled over to look at Dwalin. He was on first watch and had set himself up on a rock not far from you. You arched up and made eye contact. _Would you look at that_ , he wasn’t glaring! You smiled and waved lightly. He returned the smile and the wave, looking far more relaxed than you’d ever seen him. You rolled back over and closed your eyes, more than a bit pleased.

_Success!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul, from the incredible [dwarrowscholar](https://dwarrowscholar.wordpress.com/):
> 
> Du bekar! – To arms!
> 
> Thatrimé – My star  
>   
> -  
>   
> Originally posted on [tumblr](http://immawriteyouthings.tumblr.com/post/134707939741/falling-stars-part-1)
> 
> Hey! You! Thanks for reading!
> 
> Leave a comment if you can, I'd love to hear from you! Or, if you wanna, drop me a line on [tumblr](http://immawriteyouthings.tumblr.com/) where I'm also immawriteyouthings. :D


	2. Coffee and Canines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quest continues. There is no coffee. There are, however, gigantic wolves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've fudged the timeline a bunch to suit my fancy. :3

"Downright adorable, that is."

"You're a lucky dwarf."

"Do y'think she'd hold on to somethin' _else_ that tight– OW!"

You woke slowly, reluctantly, groaning as deep dwarf voices dragged you out of your slumber. Why did they have to be so loud? Dwarves should come with a snooze button, if only so you had an excuse to smack them when they got too loud.

"Ah, she's waking up! On your toes, eh, Dwal– OW!"

"Good morning, Y/N!"

"Mmph," you grunted, not yet capable of complicated things like words and… words. Tricky bastards with their… consonants and meanings and things. You reached up to rub your face and quickly realized you were holding something.

The dagger.

You must've grabbed it in your sleep. It was amazing you hadn't sliced your entire freaking face open. You set the dagger down and resumed your face rub, sans blade, before rising sleepily to plod over to the others. Wait. No.

You paused halfway there and turned to stumble back to your bedroll, snatching up the blade. _Better get used to having this around_ , you thought with a sleepy nod, then returned to the group. You fell into an open spot around the fire, still only half-conscious. Ugh, mornings. You were in no way a morning person. More of a, 'will hiss at you if woken too early' person.

"Good morning, thatrimé."

The words were soft, deep and soothing. You grunted again, squinting into the early light – dear lord, was it _dawn_? – and heard a soft chuckle. Prying your eyes open, you glanced over and saw that you'd somehow managed to sit next to Dwalin. He smiled down at you and– Really? He was _smiling_? At _you_? You leaned in a bit, wondering if your bleary eyes were augmenting reality or if you were still dreaming. Nope. His mouth was definitely curved upward, though it started to slide as you stared at him. You spoke without thinking, "You should smile more."

"Hm?"

"I like it," you said and his eyes widened a tad, neck turning red. His lips followed half a second later, quirking up at the edges, though a bit more confidently than before.

"Aye, Dwalin, it's _very_ becoming," Bofur teased as he walked past and Dwalin's smile vanished in favor of a death-glare usually reserved for you. Aha! How the tables had turned! You'd give a triumphant cheer if your head wasn't still so groggy.

"Wish there was coffee," you groaned and watched yet another packet of dried herbs emerge from Bombur's pack. Tea. _Blech_. You'd never really liked _tea_. Feeling altogether childish and whiny, you let your head fall into your hands and, regretfully, against the hard metal hilt of your dagger. You hissed and jolted away, rubbing at your pained forehead, sure of the geometric lump you'd have by the end of the day.

"Not easy to make out here."

"But, but _dark_. Bitter. _Lovely_. Caffeine. Better than _tea_ ," you said the last bit with revulsion and Dori turned slowly from across the fire, aghast, to stare at you. You stared right back and made a face at the silver-haired dwarf, sneering unattractively across the fire. Dwalin laughed and what a _sound_ it was. You'd heard it before, but man. Being responsible for that deep, hearty sound was pretty dang awesome. Even if there wasn't any coffee. Depending on how long you were stuck here, you might end up being responsible for Middle-Earth's first coffee shop.

"Maybe I'll have to find you some."

You smiled and leaned against him without thinking, dozing and giving up the battle against gravity. Besides, you liked new, nice Dwalin. Sturdy, comfortable, _warm_ Dwalin. Were all dwarves this warm? Bearded hot water bottles. Each and every one of them.

"While you're at it, find me a new bed. The ground is _awful_ ," you mumbled. He started, coughing lightly, but didn't respond. Then wrapped an arm around you, placing a hand lightly on your far shoulder. He was so warm and big and who knew muscles could be _comfy_? You could fall back asleep, right here. Except for the steady sunrise filtering into your eyes with it's cheery little pinpricks of _death_.

"Ugh. I hate morning. Let's get Thorin to banish it. Skip right to afternoon," you announced and let your arm lazily sweep into the distance, your blade pointing onward.

"Don't think the hobbit'd like that," he said quietly, lowering your arm and the blade with a gentle hand. You opened a single eye to look. Bilbo was helping with breakfast as always, chattering away about butter and herbs. You scoffed and closed your eye, snuggling into the fur at Dwaln's collar to block out the sun's rays.

"Breakfast isn't banished. Only morning."

He chuckled again and you felt it against you.

* * *

 His laughter became a very familiar sound after that. He came to you often that day, and though he didn't talk much, he seemed more than happy to listen to you blather on, laughing at your jokes and listening in a way that made you scramble for better things to say. He paid you _full_ attention, eyes bright and intense, something you'd never really had back home. It's why you were such a chatterbox, to be honest. Better to talk until someone heard you than not be heard at all.

And so you marched on with the others, talking away, pack now exponentially lighter as Dwalin insisted on carrying the bulk of it himself. Despite your protests, of course.

When you complained, he offered – or rather, teasingly threatened – to carry you too. Or lift you onto one of the few remaining ponies (those that hadn't run off or been eaten by trolls) and tie you to the saddle. Which, while tempting given your lack of experience with long-distance hiking, wasn't exactly how you wanted your adventure to go. This was supposed to be something… transformative! You'd return home strong and knowledgeable, ready to face your future! Like Sarah in Labyrinth. Or Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. Or Alice. Or Wendy. Or what's her face in the Narnia books. Or any story that involved a lost heroine. Dear lord, how many women had to fall into fantasy realms before everyone was satisfied? You imagined a rain of spunky heroines and cringed. Then cringed even more as Dwalin grabbed your hand and pulled you off the trail for the sixth time that day.

" _Dwalin_ …," you whined, elongating his name until you were producing a nasally 'n' sound.

"We'll catch up," he said to Balin, who nodded. Thorin, however, at the front of the group, gave out a snort.

"Should we just set up camp, since you seem so intent on doing so at every turn?" Thorin said wryly, his head inclined.

"Aye, that way I can stab you in your sleep," Dwalin spat and you could almost _feel_ Bilbo tense up behind you. You couldn't blame him, it felt like a fist fight was going to break out at any moment. Thankfully, it dissolved just as quickly as it started. Thorin laughed hugely, throwing his head back, and gestured onward. The group followed, though Balin paused.

"Don't take too long, brother," Balin said, and glanced at you, "We still have quite a long way to go."

"It'll only take a minute."

Balin nodded and patted your arm, gazing wistfully onward. " _Ah, to be young._ " Then he moved on with the others, leaving you and Dwalin alone. Yet again.

"What is it this time? And what was _that_? Wait– Hey!" you objected as he lifted your dwindling pack from your back and slung it over a shoulder. "I can carry _something_ , you know."

You swung your dagger at the ground in frustration and he smiled, a soft sort of smile focused on your hand grasping the blade. Then all at once his face went serious. He set down his things (and all of your things he'd slowly gathered) and started fiddling with his belt. You watched, wondering in horror if you were about to get an eyeful of, well, _Dwalin_ when Fili and Kili passed. You looked to them in desperation, mental screaming ' _help_ ,' and ' _oh my god he's undressing in front of me, what do I do, help._ ' They walked on, like absolute assholes, but at least acknowledged you as they continued: Kili made kissy faces, pursing his lips mockingly and Fili waggled his eyebrows. Idiots.

"Should've made you a belt. And a scabbard. Wanted to do things properly," Dwalin grumbled, mostly to himself, then removed his belt. And thankfully stopped there. He wrapped the thick leather around your waist, his hands brushing your sides, and attempted to cinch it. He let go and it fell loosely down to your hips, too large to stay put. You laughed, utterly confused. Was he… was he dressing you up? What in the world was going on? He gave you a look, then loosened the belt once more and tied it in a large, bulky knot. The heavy square buckle hung at your side, and you swiveled your hips so that it swayed from side to side.

"Well. _That's_ a fashion statement."

Dwalin ignored your sass, but looked satisfied and gently slipped the dagger from your grasp. He produced a strip of leather from one of the many bags he insisted on carrying and tied it in a loose loop around the blade, then knelt to deftly tie it to your new(ish) belt. He tugged on the knot once, jostling you on your feet, then nodded. You looked down at him and he gazed up, smiling.

"That should help."

The blade hung at your hip, now easily accessible but completely out of the way.

"Oh." Well that made sense. "Thanks. I was so sure I was going to trip at some point and accidentally kill myself."

His face went pale, then he laughed. "Don't… don't say that."

"What? It's contained _now_!" you said, then realized something and grinned.  " _And now I can carry something._ "

"Come on, we have to catch up, y'daft girl." He stood and walked away, leaving you to chase after him.

"Daft? Me? I'm not daft. You're daft. Let me carry something."

"No."

You ran after the group, trying in vain to snag something off Dwalin's back. Dammit, you would be useful on this quest, whether he liked it or not. Determined to at least retrieve your little pack, you bounced around him. Then attempted stealth, sneaking behind Bofur only to have your cover completely blown by the loud-mouthed dwarf. No matter what you tried, you ended up pinned under very amused eyes. You huffed and slowed, falling into step with the princes.

"Fili. Help me get one of Dwalin's bags."

"What?"

"He won't let me carry anything."

Fili laughed as you pouted.

"You can carry my bag if you– _Nevermind_." Kili quickly returned his bag to his shoulder and you followed his eyes to Dwalin, who was peering over his shoulder at you.

"Oh, _come on_ ," you moaned, letting your head fall back and your knees bend in an exaggerated near-collapse.

"Nice belt, by the way."

You blew a raspberry at the brothers and quickened your pace, walking beside Dwalin again.

"Fine. I won't carry anything. But don't complain when your back's all tired. That's your own fault."

"Fair enough."

You walked in companionable silence for a while and you listened to the voices of the company, the trees, the noises of the forest. You and nature had an… interesting relationship, to say the least. Your life back home was basically saturated in technology and it was rare that you had the chance to actual revel in the 'great outdoors'. Not that you didn't enjoy it, you just also really, _really_ liked movies and the internet and air conditioning and playing on your phone. You'd already caught yourself reaching for that lovely little rectangle a handful of times, hoping to glance at the time or reflexively check your email or one of your social media accounts. But, as your phone was probably still charging on your bedside table back home, you really had no choice but to rough it in every sense of the word. Currently, for example, you had a rock in your boot.

Refusing to stop to do the sensible thing and actually take off your boot, you shook your foot every which way, cursing and hoping to wiggle the stone to a place where it wouldn't stab into your heel. You heard someone in the company shout and raised your head, but didn't think too much of it, bending to give in and loosen your laces when you noticed that they all had their weapons out.

Ah, frick. You clumsily drew your dagger and stood defensively, though a beat later than everyone else. Late enough that everyone had relaxed and it was abundantly clear that the strange brown-hued man and his team of huge rabbits were not a threat. Dwalin made a noise beside you, some strange mixture between a sigh and a laugh. 

You slumped, lowering your blade. "What?"

"Nothin'." Dwalin shook his head, amused. "I just have a lot to teach you."

"Yeah, well." You made a face at the dwarf. It wasn't your fault! You were _used_ to loud noises being nothing to worry about, it's what came from living in the modern world! Cars backing up, sudden loud music, fireworks, inexplicable arguments in the middle of the street at two in the morning; it was all par for the course!

Ignoring Dwalin’s clear amusement, you turned back to the newcomer. The strange little man seemed incredibly distressed and was chattering away with Gandalf like one of the birds nesting in his hair. Which just could _not_ be sanitary. Then all at once he stopped his tirade and looked at you.

"Who is that?" The funky dude – a wizard, you understood, which explained a lot – quirked his head and sniffed at the air. "She smells _different_."

Though it was said more curiously than anything, your mouth snapped open in outrage. Dwalin chuckled beside you.

"And you're just a bed of roses," you spat under your breath and Dwalin choked on another laugh.

"Ah, Radagast, this is Y/N. She is from… far away." Gandalf's eyes were twinkling like goddamn Christmas lights. Why was it that old guys could make their eyes _twinkle_? Old people and anime heroines. No one else.

"Hm, interesting." Radagast looked at you carefully before launching into another crazed monologue about darkness and evil, his eyes gone wide. Feeling indignant, you continued whispering an imaginary sarcastic conversation to yourself, "And what an interesting scent you're wearing my dear wizard! Ah, do I detect a hint of _bird shit_?"

Dwalin snorted and sniffed a bit, his hand coming up to discreetly flick at his nose, clearly gathering his composure. Composure you were now bound and determined to break.

"And hm, is that," you gasped lightly, fanning yourself, "Rancid underwear? Oh you've simply outdone yourself!"

Dwalin buckled as you continued, sputtering, and Balin turned to give you both a measured look. You feigned nonchalance, trying to appear interested in whatever it was Radagast was on about. But once he turned away, you went right back to it, hamming it up, now only for the warrior's benefit.

"No. I can't believe it, I simply can't," you gasped and grabbed Dwalin's arm, pretending to swoon, "You genius. Manure wrapped in rotting flesh! Oh! You are just the picture of sophistication, my dear old, old, old, old, old," a deep, intentional drawn out breath, "Old, old, old, old, old… old man!"

And you broke Dwalin. He crumbled and doubled over with laughter, tears blooming at his eyes.

"Are you quite done?" Thorin snapped, glaring to you both as you grinned. Dwalin nodded, attempting to go as serious as possible, even as his mouth twitched with barely contained mirth.

"Oh, I don't know." You looked Dwalin up and down. "I think I could get him on the ground if I tried hard enough."

"You could get him on the ground if you _asked_ ," Nori snorted and Dwalin opened his mouth to retort, only to be interrupted by a deep growl.

"Was that a wolf?" Bilbo asked, fearful, "Are there wolves out here?"

You raised your dagger as the others scanned the periphery. All of your good humor evaporated and was swiftly replaced by gut-clenching fear. Oh god. Oh god, oh _god_. The trolls had been one thing, huge and slow and without a doubt deadly, but a part of the book you actually _remembered_. You knew you'd all make it out of there, there'd be no story otherwise. Though you were still pretty guilty about the poor eaten ponies. You'd managed to distract Bilbo for a bit too long, expounding the wonders of pizza in thorough detail, and the gruesome trio had devoured several ponies before he could rescue the rest. Regardless, you didn't particularly remember wolves in the tale. Wolves with teeth. And claws. And teeth.

Any question about the animals' presence in the story was soundly answered by a blur of fur and fangs descending on the group. The wargs came from nowhere and you watched, frozen in place, as they were dispatched with little to no effort. Now you'd seen horror movies. Gory, overly violent, R-rated slasher films with too much blood, intended to make you squirm and grimace and fill you with a strange, excited bloodlust. Frankly, you were almost desensitized at this point. But there was no questioning the lurch in your stomach as you watched a gigantic wolf's skull split in half by an axe three feet in front of you. And by a friend, no less.

"Ouch," you whimpered and watched Dwalin wrench his axe from a warg's head, thick blood oozing from the wound and staining the blade. _Hello nausea, my old friend._

Radagast's quick thinking and quicker rabbits gave you an chance against your pursuers (though no chance to get the rock out of your shoe) and then you were running.

Why, why, why, why, why, why, _why_? It became an agonizing mantra with every step you took. Why were you here? Why did you end up here and not, say, Wonderland? At least in wonderland there was cake. And way fewer wolves. And why did you have to be running? Oh god, why did it have to be running? Damn your spoiled, underworked modern body! No matter how fit you were, your body was _not_ used to this.

You kept up as best you could, near the back of the group, watching Ori and Bombur's backs move further ahead with each step. Your sides felt like they were tearing and you breathed out harsh, ragged breaths, pushing your body beyond its limits. Oh, this would be so much easier if you were actually an athlete. Death was swiftly approaching and it was all because you couldn't be bothered to stick to your New Year's resolutions.

"Y/N!" Thorin bellowed as the others flew past him and even further away from you, "Move!"

You wheezed and nodded, lowering your head to sprint. Oh, this was so embarrassing. The heat of the afternoon burning down on you, you looked to your feet, hoping that watching the yellowing grass fly by would keep you from falling on your face. You followed the group around a boulder, falling against the stone to breathe.

Dwalin came to your side, "Are y'alright?"

"Fine! Just– can't– breathe," your voice was strained and reedy as you sucked in oxygen. How were they all _fine_? They stood perfectly still, not showing any signs that you'd just run about three miles. It had to be at _least_ three miles. Any less and you'd be even more embarrassed. You were dead on your feet already, covered in sweat and shaking with exhaustion and fear.

"Quiet," Thorin whispered and you did your best to stifle your rough breathing, gathering what strength you still had. The wargs were closing in and you prayed that you'd miraculously make it out alive again – lord knows Tolkien loved a madcap escape. Ori, unable to contain his fidgeting, made to run and exposed your hiding spot.

"Ori, no!" Thorin roared and the lot of them moved, launching the chase anew.

"Goddamnit," you wheezed and followed.

You made it about three paces when a warg leapt and hit the ground just behind your feet, sending you toppling forward onto your stomach. You hit the ground, trying to scream but too out of breath to do more than gasp. Hands grasping at dry grass as you scrambled away, you tried to regain your feet only for a large paw to come down in your back. The pads were an impossible weight as the massive creature pinned you to the ground. The earth was dry and fragrant in the afternoon heat, almost strangling your breath, tiny bugs swarming around your face. You reached for your dagger, sliding your hand down your side and the beast snapped at your arm, jagged teeth just grazing your skin.

This was it, you realized. You were _actually_ going to die. This early in the quest, impossibly far from home, in the middle of a field, torn apart by an overgrown dog. But it's not like you were even a part of this story. You couldn't just expect to survive when you had no experience fighting or questing or _running_ for that matter.

…But fuck, don't let it happen like this. _Please, don't let it happen like this._

An arrow hit the warg's head, ricocheting off it’s skull, and the animal snarled and reared, teeth bared. Seizing the opportunity to escape, you crawled away on your stomach but the paw returned, pushing you down. You could feel it's hot, heavy breath on your back, ruffling your hair. Why hadn't it eaten you yet? It's teeth had to be as big as your hand if not larger – oh _god_ – and it could probably swallow you in one or, more horrifyingly, two bites. Its rider spoke, dark words completely garbled but mocking. Great. Not only were you going to be eaten, you were going to be made fun of in the process.

A mad roar and the warg toppled backward, taking its rider with it. You were pulled from the ground and onto your feet in an instant. Flooded with relief, you wrapped your arms around your savior, holding on for dear life. _  
_

"Where is Gandalf?"

"He's abandoned us!" your savior growled and yep. Dwalin. Was there _nothing_ he couldn't do? You'd have to bake him a cake. Or knit him a sweater. Or kiss him.

…Or something.

In the meantime, you clung to his shoulders until he wrenched you around. He urged you onward, and when you found your stupid legs had completely forgotten how to do their job, he bent to lift you from the ground, pulling you up and into his arms as though you weighed nothing. "Hold on tight."

He ran toward the others, gripping you firmly to his chest.

Gandalf appeared just in time, peaking his head out of the rocks like an aged prairie dog, and pointed the group toward a convenient, if concealed, sloping passage. Dwarves swiftly disappeared from view, sliding into the darkness one by one. Dwalin didn't let you go, simply jumped down with you still firmly in his arms.

Once on solid ground, he carefully set you back on your feet but didn't let you stray from him, his hands falling to your shoulders. He looked you in the eye. "Can you breathe?"

"Yeah," you said, your voice a crack of sound and you realized you were shaking. You held your quaking hand up to watch the completely involuntary movement and laughed a bit hysterically. Dwalin pulled you into an embrace, mumbling something above your head as the others, mainly Thorin, raged about elves behind you. You closed your eyes and sighed, more than thankful for your new, very solid, very fearsome friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on [tumblr.](http://immawriteyouthings.tumblr.com/post/145005029896/falling-stars-part-2)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment if you have a moment. And feel free to drop me a [line.](immawriteyouthings.tumblr.com)


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